


grounded and giving and darkening scorn

by crownsandbirds



Series: so, darling, play your violin (it's what you live for) [1]
Category: Given (Manga)
Genre: Character Study, Early Mornings, Introspection, M/M, Relationship Study, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 08:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19866634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownsandbirds/pseuds/crownsandbirds
Summary: "Tell me you’re alive. Tell me this is real. Show me you’re warm like a human being should be, let me listen to your heart beating, let me fit my hands between your ribs and feel your lungs filling with air. Are you real? If I cut you, will you bleed red like me? Kiss me, let me bleed out on top of your expensive bed sheets, convince me this is worth it. Convince me we’re okay, with your gorgeous scorn and your sharp, cutting love. Are we okay?"It's early morning. Akihiko wonders about Ugetsu.





	grounded and giving and darkening scorn

**Author's Note:**

> "I was housed by your warmth, thus transformed  
> By your grounded and giving and darkening scorn;  
> Remember me, love, when I'm reborn  
> As the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn." 
> 
> (shrike - hozier)

Ugetsu moves like a song. 

Akihiko trails his fingers down the arch of his spine, gentle as a murmur none of them can comprehend completely - Ugetsu arches back, liquid, lazy heat, tilting his head towards the tall ceiling of their - his - house, showing off the curve of his swan-like neck, his entire body moving towards Akihiko’s touch; as if Akihiko is in any way deserving of this beautiful man and the scornful sonata under his smooth skin, as if he has any skill. 

A pianist told him once that unskilled people should never be allowed to play a piano unsupervised - pianos are stubborn and proud instruments, and unskilled hands will stain them with filth, shove their brilliant, clear cadency out of tune. 

Akihiko runs his fingers down an entire scale on the small of Ugetsu’s feline back, eight deliberate touches, there and back again. His hands have always been too clumsy, too tough and calloused for the elegant curve of piano keys, his fingers twitching with lack of practice. 

A little scoff. Small sound of distaste - Akihiko is painfully familiar with that particular interval of breath coming out of Ugetsu’s lips; and even then, he thinks, his feverish stupid mind spitting back at him, even then it sounds like a song. 

“You awake?” Akihiko asks, dumbly, just to hear Ugetsu’s voice. 

_ Tell me you’re alive. Tell me this is real. Show me you’re warm like a human being should be, let me listen to your heart beating, let me fit my hands between your ribs and feel your lungs filling with air. Are you real? If I cut you, will you bleed red like me? My beautiful, sad, lonely prodigy. Kiss me, let me bleed out on top of your expensive bed sheets, convince me this is worth it. We are worth it. Convince me we’re okay, with your gorgeous scorn and your sharp, cutting love. Are we okay?  _

“Of course,” Ugetsu scoffs again. Even when it’s morning, earliest hours, his voice is clear, his speech diamond-cut. “You woke me up.” 

“Sorry,” Akihiko mumbles. His hand moves up, trails smooth skin, fits at the back of Ugetsu’s neck. His hair is soft, well-kept. Akihiko twirls a strand around his finger. Wants to steal a lock for himself, keep it in a locket, wear it on his neck. Wants to keep Ugetsu for himself, his personal consumption only, for his eyes and his ears and his hands. 

_ Fuck the audience, _ he wants to say.  _ Fuck the stage. Let me use your hips as handholds. Let me fit my lips on your waist. Call out my name like a song. Play for me. Play for me, Ugetsu Murata, and convince me our love isn’t the disaster I think it is.  _

“Well,” Ugetsu drawls out, shifts under Akihiko’s touch, turns and lies down on his back. His eyes are impossibly sharp, clear like crystal, cutting through soft flesh and hard bone and fragile arteries. He looks too perfect to be human. Too flawless to be Akihiko’s. “At least make it worth my time.” 

Akihiko leans down as Ugetsu arches up, and, at least when they kiss, they fit. At least with Ugetsu’s arms around his neck, Akihiko can make sense of the song of his existence. 

**Author's Note:**

> i played classical piano for about 10 years. given has been resonating with me. have this


End file.
